


you always let me down so tenderly

by sebvettels



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: Boy trusts the other so much and the other is learning about trust, Future hint of romance, Guess which one is which, How Do I Tag, Hurt but no comfort, Light Angst, M/M, Other, Working things out, can be read as platonic if you want
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-18
Updated: 2019-10-18
Packaged: 2020-12-22 18:22:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21081026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sebvettels/pseuds/sebvettels
Summary: A quarter past midnight, a door, and a hallwayorWhat happened after Japan.





	you always let me down so tenderly

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Bad Decisions by Bastille. 
> 
> I wrote this while listening to the whole Doom Days album and I can't resist putting in the quarter past midnight bit. Hope you enjoy this!!

Max quickly made his way to the press pen, the quicker it was done, the quicker he could make his way out of the circuit. He had already changed out of his racing overalls long ago, feeling weirdly naked without it when the sound of F1 cars racing in the distance still loud and noticeable. He tried to ignore the feeling the best he could as he focused on the questions thrown at him.

He spoke up everything on his mind, feeling freer than he had ever been in the past. Maybe it was because this time he knew that he was in the right. His words were sharp and precise, leaving no room for flattery. God knew Cha– _Leclerc_ didn’t truly deserve it. Max hoped spitefully that the Monegasque would be watching this after the race, the race where he somehow managed to finish in points, while Max was forced to retire and explained what went wrong as if he were the one in the wrong.

Max moved to the next journalist and repeated the same thing, except this time in Dutch. His body was on autopilot mode as he proceeded his way around the pen and droned on and on about the crash. He barely noticed that he was out of the pen until he almost crashed to an unsuspecting Ferrari employee. He apologised automatically and walked to the hospitality, trying to find someone to take him back to the hotel.

* * *

Max slammed the door behind him. The harsh light of his hotel room glared at him, judging, worsening his already bad mood. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, attempting to calm himself down. Sensing himself calming down, he fished out his phone from his pocket and turned it on, only to be assaulted by the array of messages.

Max scrolled through all of them cursorily, typing back the appropriate reply. He opened the message from his father but didn’t bother to reply back. On the other chatroom, Victoria sent him a bunch of emojis and motivation quotes, doing her best to cheer him up. Max smiled thinly at the effort and tried to answer as good-spiritedly as he could. His mother was harder to convince, never letting him off the hook, trying to make sure he was fine. He tried to appear convincing, even sending a few jokes and all, but it took him quite a long time before his mother believed him and told him to get some rest. He said goodbye and closed the messaging app, locking the phone.

All those typing and messages and he barely noticed that he was now sitting down on the sofa. He stared emptily at the dark screen of the TV, trying to figure what to do next. He didn’t want to watch the race, a reminder that his race got stolen from him in a single corner with a single action, ridiculous action from someone who should’ve known better.

He dug his fingernails painfully to his palm, balling his fist at the thought. _God, I trusted him, I trusted Charles_. He really did, somehow, unknowingly. Maybe because no matter how many years he had in F1 compared to the Monegasque, they had been through so much together. There was a certain, unique trust in knowing that despite their fight on the track, because of course what else would they do on the track, they had each other’s backs. However, that trust was broken today and there was a hollow gap in the place where Max’s heart should’ve been. They often touched here and there, but to see the other man cruelly took him out of the race left a bitter feeling in Max. _Not cruel_, his mind whispered, _just careless_. Max ignored it, there were too much loathing and anger in him to lend his ears to common sense, no matter how desperate he tried to rein in those feelings.

Max was so deep in his mulling that the buzzing of his phone almost made him jumped off the sofa. Swiftly, he unlocked the screen and froze when he saw who the sender was.

_Can we talk?_

The race must have been over, then. Max fiddled with his phone for a while. It was so easy to ignore it, but the petty side of him wanted to have the final word, and it was out of spite that he replied.

_No._

Without waiting for an answer, Max turned off his phone and threw his body to the bed. He felt drained, mentally and physically. He grappled for the light switch and the room went dark immediately. He rolled his body and reached for the cover he somehow kicked away when he jumped to the bed.

* * *

He must have fallen asleep because a sudden knock on his door jarred him awake, eyes wide open. He glanced at the clock on the wall across him, scrunching his brows as it showed exactly a quarter past midnight. With a groan, Max dragged his body out of his bed, across the room, to get to the door.

Too tired to check through the peephole on the door, Max yanked the door open, ready to berate the person knocking, only to shut his mouth when he was greeted with the sight of Charles Leclerc stood awkwardly in front of him. Max narrowed his eyes and tried to close the door rapidly, just to be stopped by the other man’s foot, sticking out to hold the door from closing.

“Leave me,” Max hissed furiously. _There was no need for yelling_, Max pridefully contemplated, he could always be the dignified one out of the two of them.

Charles’ voice, half-muffled, answered back, “No, we need to talk.”

“_Ha_,” Max retorted, “You mean _you_ need to talk. I, on the other hand, don’t need anything. Now, go away.” He kicked the offending foot away, pushing the door harder.

“Max, _please_.” The Monegasque pleaded and Max could already imagine his face, the widening of his eyes and the pout on his lips. Well, it didn’t work this time.

_Asshole should’ve thought better before he destroyed my race_, Max viciously thought, but he only shouted, “Let go of my fucking door, you fucking bastard.”

“Then, do something about it, Verstappen,” The challenge was clear in his voice and Max swore to God and every deity on this world and beyond that, there wasn’t anyone he hated more than _Charles fucking Leclerc_.

With a battle cry, Max stomped on the jutting foot as hard as he could. The foot jerked back accompanied with a sharp yell of pain. Max felt victorious, for a fleeting moment, until he noticed a protruding hand and another screech of pain followed.

“What the actual fuck, Leclerc? What is it with you and leaving people alone when you should have?”

“I’m sorry, okay? I was a jerk, an asshole, whatever you want to call me, go ahead and say it. I’m just so sorry.” Charles murmured, pain tinging his voice.

Max huffed, “That’s the most annoying thing. I don’t need your apology. You say you’re sorry because you want to clear your conscience. You think you mean it, but you don’t. You will do the same again even if you can turn back time. Yet, you do this because you’re supposed to feel guilty. So, I say, save your breath and go. I really have no need.”

There was silence on the face of what he had said. Max shook his head in disappointment because somewhere along the line he started to get his hopes up. Hopes he hadn’t known he still had.

“But, I do,” Charles said after a while when Max almost gave up on him, “I don’t do this because of my supposed guilty feeling. I do this because I know I’m guilty and I know you deserve better. _I know I should’ve done better_.”

Max bit his lower lip, thinking it through and sighed, “You’re an idiot, Leclerc, and you’re going to ruin your racing career if you keep your hand that way. Pull it away and we’ll talk.”

“Promise you won’t just the slam the door on my face?”

Max wanted to answer it snidely, but the apparent vulnerability in Charles’ voice melted his resolve, _damn that asshole_. Instead, he said, “Cross my heart and hope to die.”

“Okay,” Charles murmured from the other side of the door, “_Okay_.” He slowly pulled his hand from the tiny gap between the door and the wall, letting Max’s words washed onto him, putting all his hope on Max and the truth of his words. _So, this is what trust feels like_, he silently pondered.

Max took a deep breath and threw the door open. He tilted his head towards the inside of his room, signalling the other man to enter. Charles entered wordlessly and Max stuck his head out to the hallway, checking left and right before he closed the door. In the now deserted hallway, the light fizzled and flickered before it shone brightly again.

**Author's Note:**

> Good God, I hope you like it!! I enjoy writing this one, a lot! I was eating my dinner when the sentence "Max slammed the door behind him. The harsh light of his hotel room glared at him." popped into my mind. To be really honest I wasn't expecting this to be a Max and Charles fic, I don't even ship them for heaven's sake, but here we are. Guess I'm not really good with expectations, huh. I actually want to write until they manage to solve their little problem, but I ran out of idea so I'm just going to finish it at this. Maybe I should add another chapter someday, idk? Anyway, leave comments and kudos. They really inspire me! See you next time, toodles.


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